Aynesworth looked up and recognized Lady Ruth. She was fanning herself languidly, but her eyes were fixed upon the two men. She leaned a little forward, and her gesture was unmistakable. Aynesworth rose to his feet a little doubtfully. “You had better go,” Wingrave said. “Present my compliments and excuses. I feel that a meeting now would amount to an anti-climax.” Aynesworth made his way upstairs. Lady Ruth was alone, and he noticed that she had withdrawn to a chair where she was invisible to the house. Even Aynesworth himself could not see her face clearly at first, for she had chosen the darkest corner of the box. He gathered an impression of a gleaming white neck and bosom rising and falling rather more quickly than was natural, eyes which shone softly through the gloom, and the perfume of white roses, a great cluster of which lay upon the box ledge. Her voice was scarcely raised above a whisper. “That is--Sir Wingrave with you?” “Yes!” Aynesworth answered. “It was he who saw you first!” She seemed to catch her breath. Her voice was still tremulous. “He is changed,” she said. “I should not have recognized him.” “They were the best ten years of his life,” Aynesworth answered. “Think of how and in what surroundings he has been compelled to live. No wonder that he has had the humanity hammered out of him.” She shivered a little. “Is he always like this?” she asked. “I have watched him. He never smiles. He looks as hard as fate itself.” “I have known him only a few hours,” Aynesworth reminded her. “I dare not come tomorrow,” she whispered; “I am afraid of him.” “Do you wish me to tell him so?” he asked. “I don’t know,” she answered. “You are very unfeeling, Mr. Aynesworth.” “I hope not,” he answered, and looked away towards the orchestra. He did not wish to meet her eyes. “You are!” she murmured. “I have no one to whom I dare speak--of this. I dare not mention his name to my husband. It was my evidence which convicted him, and I can see, I know, that he is vindictive. And he has those letters! Oh! If I could only get them back?” Her voice trembled with an appeal whispered but passionate. It was wonderful how musical and yet how softly spoken her words were. They were like live things, and the few feet of darkened space through which they had passed seemed charged with magnetic influence. “Mr. Aynesworth!” He turned and faced her. “Can’t you help me?” “I cannot, Lady Ruth.” The electric bell rang softly from outside, and the orchestra commenced to play. Lady Ruth rose and looked at herself in the mirror. Then she turned and smiled at her visitor. The pallor of her face was no longer unnatural. She was a wonderful woman. “I shall come tomorrow,” she said. “Shall I see you?” “That,” he answered, “depends upon Sir Wingrave.” She made a little grimace as she dismissed him. Wingrave did not speak to his companion for some time after he had resumed his seat. Then he inclined his head towards him.